Saving Them

You stare up at your childhood home in disgust. The two-story (three; counting the attic) building is outwardly beautiful, with green ivy climbing up the brick surface. Grand widows in every room, and high ceilings only add to its magnificence. You hate it. The widows teased you in your youth, shining light on an outside world you could never be a part of. The tall rooms echoed and creaked, making escape from the fortress impossible. You were alone in the home, despite the many servants and your parents. There was no freedom, children on the street presumed that you were a ghost and treated you as such in school. Which led to you being home-schooled by your father.

Ugh. Your father.

The late Alex Kralie was a director for some of the best horror movies, according to Critics. Although he appeared to be the perfect gentleman in public, and at events, he was anything but. The man was a lunatic. He always insisted upon the most outrageous security measures. Barred windows, motion detectors, shatter-proof glass, cameras, motion lights, alarms, basically anything he could get his hands on. So, growing up, you were unable to play outside or open a window. It was always playing quietly in your room. You were not to disturb Alex in any way. He believed creatures, monsters, to be hunting for his head. The man even went as far as to brainwash your mother into believing that the entire family was in constant danger. You only learned that his parenting was unhealthy after graduating high school and attending a nearby college. Apparently, fathers were actually supposed to calm their child's night terrors, not cause them.

Thus, you moved in with friends for the rest of your time in school. It took a while, but you no longer woke up at odd hours screaming. You no longer felt the need to constantly check over your shoulder. You were normal, for the most part. You liked that word, normal. It's so simple, yet complicated at the same time. It's difficult to be normal, but so easy to appear it. Nothing like your childhood.

---

Entering the security code, and unlocking the four deadbolts on the front door, and you enter the home. Everything is coated with a thick layer of dust, as no one had entered the home since Alex's death at the hospital some months ago. Everything was left to your family, but since your mother is off at a rehabilitation camp from the "trauma" of Alex's death, it might as well belong to you. The servants would be returning any moment, ready to clean the home for your mother's return next week. In the meantime, you would be spending your time getting rid of whatever you could. Likely starting with the hidden "safe rooms" around the house.

You were right to wait by the door to allow the servants inside. Seconds after you closed the door, it was being reopened for the workers. After receiving their orders, many went about their duties. Only one stayed to ask if you needed any help. As tempting as it was, especially since the young man who asked was devilishly handsome, you refused. You had to do this alone.

Going from room to room, you made piles in the hallway for the other workers to dispose of. It went like this for about three days before you finished the secret rooms. Sighing, you crossed your arms. Boy, did Alex have a lot of useless shit. You're even starting to wonder if the man was a hoarder to some level. Trying to think of other places that your Old Man could have hidden away his garbage, you were left with two other possible places. The basement or the attic.